


One for Sorrow

by BritishRobutt



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Blood and Injury, Body Dysphoria, Body Horror, Creature Corvo, Curses, Gen, High Chaos Corvo to Low Chaos Corvo, Low Chaos Daud (Dishonored), M/M, Memory Alteration, Monster Corvo, Slow Burn, Time Travel Amnesia, Transformation, Void Powers Gone Wrong, void magic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-05-31 19:53:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15126722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BritishRobutt/pseuds/BritishRobutt
Summary: He has left mountains of corpses in his wake to put Emily on the throne, but in the final struggle to oust Delilah from the ruins of Dunwall, Corvo fails. The ritual succeeds, but then... Corvo finds himself in Dunwall, back at the very beginning of it all, with no memories of the future and a monstrous new form.But, as with all things involving the Void and magic, there is a price to be paid.In which Delilah’s ritual backfires and sends Corvo back to his time in Coldridge Prison, but this time as a void abomination and without any memories of the alternate future. And in this timeline, things have changed.





	1. A Murder of One

**Author's Note:**

> The idea came from the fact that the Void has no concept of time-- Delilah aged only 3 years while trapped in the void while the 12 years before Dishonored 2 passed. Her escape caused rifts in the Void all over the timeline. That combined with the high/low chaos and the Outsiders comments on 'endings,' it means that I can for sure fit in a monster Corvo post-high chaos fix-it fic. Definitely.
> 
>  
> 
> Chapter Trigger Warnings: Blood, Torture, Body Horror

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This idea came from the fact that the Void has no concept of time (and from watching Howl's Moving Castle-- wouldn't Corvo make a great bird man like Howl?), since Delilah aged only 3 years while trapped in the void while the 12 years before Dishonored 2 passed. Her escape caused rifts in the Void all over the timeline, which means that I can for sure fit in a monster Corvo post-high chaos fix-it fic. Definitely.
> 
> Chapter Trigger Warnings: Torture, Blood, Body Horror

_“How does it feel, Corvo? To come so close to avenging Emily, only to fall before the very end?”_

Corvo opened his eyes with a snarl, bloody hands instinctively grasping for his blade. The Outsider loomed above him, and beyond, the fragments of overgrown pillars stretching up into a blue ether. This wasn’t the same bleached, twisted world inside Delilah’s painting, nor was it truly the overgrown deluge of the throne room. He sat up and glanced around frantically, but there was no sign of the other Marked. Delilah was gone.

“Where’s Delilah?” he demanded, his voice harsh. Corvo had barely spoken to anyone after the final confrontation on the Dreadful Whale, and it showed. He rose to his feet, pulling open the tatters of his coat to examine the wound he remembered there. Delilah had been extremely skilled with a blade on top of her magical superiority, much to Corvo’s displeasure.

“What happened? I remember our fight in the painting, but after…” he said, and then trailed off. There was a massive amount of blood soaked into the fabric of his coat and trousers, but Corvo saw and felt only smooth skin. “And how are you here, you black-eyed bastard? Delilah was in control here the last I saw.”

 _“You were dying at her feet. Her ritual succeeded, and she tore open reality,”_ The Outsider said impassively, “ _but it had results she did not intend, something not even I could predict.”_

The black-eyed deity gestured to the Void around them, now the peaceful whale-oil blue of Corvo’s first venture from so many years ago. The frozen tableau of the ruined throne room stretched around them, but Emily’s statue was the only human figure present. Neither Delilah herself or the painting was anywhere to be seen; instead, the wall where it once hung depicted a painting of a familiar scene, one that made Corvo nearly choke on bitter rage. In the distance, the mournful cries of leviathans grew to a crescendo.

 _“You have a choice to make, Corvo,”_ The Outsider stated, running his hand over the painted image of Jessamine bleeding out on the floor of the pavilion. The ground started to shudder, and Corvo stumbled to his knees. _“The Delilah you fought wanted the world, the seas around it, and the stars above. But fracturing reality has forced the timeline into disarray. Soon, this island, and both of us, will vanish.”_

“What do you mean?” Corvo demanded, struggling to climb to his feet. The ground continued to tremble, and the whales’ mournful song in the distance suddenly died. Color was leeching from the Void around them, and the surrounding floating islands were dropping into the growing darkness. “What choice?”

_“Mortals would undo the world just to have a second chance at life, Corvo. If you had a chance to start over, at the time where everything went wrong, what would you change?”_

Corvo didn’t hesitate.

“Everything.”

A loud crack drew his attention away from the painting. The statue of Emily had shorn in half, spiderweb cracks spreading over her stone hair and legs. She was coming apart, piece of by piece. The throne room was following suit, the pillars and throne starting to breakdown in front of his eyes.  The Void was keening, a metal-on-metal sound that growing louder and louder by the second.

The shaking grew to a violent shudder, and Corvo was knocked off of his feet to land at the base of the painting of Jessamine’s death, the painting that was growing larger and larger by the second, and Corvo swore he could see the boats in the background of the painting start to _move._ A sea breeze wafted through the Void, bringing the familiar Dunwall scent of whale oil and rust, and cool white marble spread under his fingertips.

 _“You may have not been the one who did the deed, but it is you who much pay the price, body mind, and spirit. There will be consequences, some that even I cannot predict,”_ The Outsider observed, somehow still audible over the Void’s howl, _“but I have no doubt that things will far more interesting this time around, Corvo.”_

The Outsider gave him one last appraising look before the black-eyed deity vanished entirely. The ground bucked beneath his feet, and Corvo tumbled headfirst into the painting.The ground bucked beneath his feet, and Corvo tumbled headfirst into the painting.

 

* * *

 

“Come now, Corvo. Sign the confession. There’s no point in holding out; everyone in Dunwall knows you killed our beloved Empress. You _will_ face justice.”

Corvo squinted up at the sneering face of Thaddeus Campbell through his bruised eyes and turned his lips up in a snarl, remaining silent. The Royal Spymaster, who was pacing impatiently behind Campbell, gestured towards the lit brazier positioned next to Corvo’s chair, and one the prison guards that had been silently, eagerly waiting yanked the heated iron out of the fire and pressed it against his right cheek.

Corvo screamed, his body jerking against the back of the chair in a futile attempt to pull away from the heat. The air stank of cooked flesh and burned hair as the iron was removed, and Corvo slumped forward. He groaned as the guard grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked his head back up. Campbell leaned in close.

“We only have time here, Corvo,” Campbell muttered, seizing Corvo by the chin. His gloved fingers dug into the burn maliciously, and Corvo could only wheeze up at him. “We’ll find out what your associates did with the Lady Emily, and ensure that she ascends to her throne. _Confess.”_

Campbell shook him violently, like a wolfhound with a rat, but Corvo kept his mouth stubbornly shut. He ignored the bait for what it was; if anything, it only reassured him that Emily was alive and whole. They needed her cooperation to maintain rule, especially since Burrows had been elected Lord Regent. That was his only beacon of light in the painful haze his life had become.

“Confess, Corvo. No one is coming for you here,” Burrows said, stepping up to Campbell’s side. He nodded at the guard again, and the hot iron’s tip hovered over Corvo’s other cheek. “Spare us the heroics.”

Corvo was gathering a wad of saliva to spit in the bastard’s face when the world, for lack of a better word… shuddered. The iron pulled away from Corvo’s cheek as the room trembled with an unseen force. The brazier toppled over with a loud crash, hot coals and embers scattering across the stone floor and setting the carpet alight. Campbell and Burrows exchanged alarmed glances, and Corvo grunted as Campbell released his face.

“What the-” Burrows spluttered, pulling away, “Put that fire out, quick! I want to know-”

Burrows didn’t finish; the ground trembled again, the air itself seemed to ripple, and the entire room stretched away from him, becoming a tight tunnel of color and sound. Corvo could hear a far-off howling, like the cries of the Overseer wolfhounds or the packs of feral dogs hunting on the streets of Karnaca, and suddenly at the end of the tunnel he could see _nothing_ , and it terrified him.

It was a patch of simply emptiness, a hole in the world itself that screamed _Danger!_ in the instinctual part of Corvo’s brain _._ Was this the Void that the Abbey spoke of, the howling force that brought forth raving heretics and dragged away innocent souls? He tried to think of a prayer-- think of anything-- but his thoughts were as sluggish as tar.

As he watched, the nothingness, the Void, surged forward like a stream of ink, heading inexorably in his direction. Corvo tried to struggle against the chair, but he found that he was paralyzed, unable to even blink or twitch as the void came closer and closer. His heart was sluggish in his chest, one beat stretching out.  When the emptiness passed the frozen figures of Burrows and Campbell, it expanded out, swallowing the room until there was nothing but black space in front of Corvo.

There was the sensation of being watched, a foreign, dangerous presence just over his shoulder, but he couldn’t turn and look. A hand pressed on his shoulder, and Corvo tried to scream The void passed over him, cold and oily, dragging over his skin and lips like wet feathers. Corvo couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, as the chill seeped into his bones and lungs and he was drowning.

He was powerless, just as he had been when Jessamine had been bleeding out in his arms. All his skills and training, brought to nothing in one moment. Unshed tears burned in his eyes. He choked on salt water and smoke, blind and helpless. And then there was the voice, cold and distant, both foreign and yet, strangely familiar.

 

_“Fascinating.”_

 

And then world restarted, color and movement and sound kicking back in so quickly that Corvo had to close his eyes, dizzy and unable to comprehend what had happened. Had he finally snapped, his mind conjuring impossible, horrific scenarios in response to the torture and starvation? Was he hearing voices? He sucked in deep breaths, his heart hammering in his chest, and rested his head on the top of his knees.  

His right hand felt frostbitten, a painful sensation of numbness and heat mixing together. Something was crawling under his skin, and the air was buzzing loudly, as though he was standing at the center of a bloodfly nest. He had never felt his injuries so keenly before, and it made breathing difficult.

“-what’s happening. Double the patrols, I don’t want any inmates getting any _ideas_ from this. I want a report on my desk within the hour.”

“Right away, Lord Regent.”

There was a loud clang, the sound of boots stomping against the floor, and then muffled footsteps. When Corvo opened his eyes again, the world swam back into focus slowly. Campbell and Burrows had stepped away from him, conferring in harsh whispers. The brazier had been righted next to a pile of smoking ashes and cinders, and everything stank of charcoal. His right hand gave another painful twitch, and Corvo muffled a curse between his teeth when he glanced down.

The hand looked like it had been dipped in ink, spreading over his palm from the tips of his fingers. It wasn’t the same emptiness from his vision, but Corvo had no doubt the two were connected. His nails looked withered and dry, like one of the rat plague victims. As he watched in horror, a strip of his skin cracked and peeled off, revealing harder, almost rigid black flesh underneath. Between his knuckles, a patch of short, dark feathers sprouted.

Disgusted, Corvo’s stomach rebelled and he retched, staining his pants with bile and scraps of food he had managed to keep down. His two captors looked over at him, wearing dual expressions of disdain and disgust, and Corvo balled his hand into a fist. If Campbell or Burrows saw the changes, it was as good as signing the confession. There was nothing like visible heresy as proof of his guilt, and he knew firsthand what the Overseers would do. He had seen the accused heretics strung up in Holger Square, and he wouldn’t give Campbell the satisfaction.

Spite was all he had, right now. Corvo coughed, the taste of bile coating the back of his mouth, and deliberately slumped over his affected hand. As Campbell and Burrows approached, the buzzing in his ears grew louder.

“We’ll stop for now, we’re not going to get anything out of him like this,” Burrows snapped, “Guards, escort him back to his cell. Let him reconsider his stubbornness for a few days.”

Corvo didn’t resist as two guards undid the shackles around his wrists and hauled him to his feet; he already sported shiners on both eyes from previous incidents. He stumbled as he tried to hold himself up on unsteady feet, using the movement to tuck his right hand deeper into the sleeve of his ratty coat. The frostbitten sensation was spreading, and he winced as one of the guards seized his forearm.

The march back to Corvo’s cell was a blur of pain as his injuries made themselves known, heightened by the numbing sensation that was stealing over his body. He counted his blessings that the guards were too occupied with snide taunts to notice his hand. The occupation of keeping his hand hidden helped keep the panic that was building up at bay.

By the time the guards unlocked the door to his cell and threw him in, parts of his shoulder and chest were starting to twitch and peel. Corvo barely made it onto the stone slab that served as his bed before he convulsed, wracked by a sudden onset of pain.

His skin was _moving_ under his clothes, rippling in constant, agonizing waves. Whatever Void-cursed thing he had been afflicted with was taking effect. The Overseers had preached stories of witches who could turn men into hideous beasts, of curses that would eat the flesh and soul, but Corvo had dismissed it as religious zeal. His ignorance was just another drop of regret in the tide that was threatening to drown him.

There was a loud, wet tear, and warm fluid dripped down his back. His fingernails were wriggling and coming loose, dripping blood onto the floor as something sharper took their place. The feathers had fully overtaken his hand. Corvo averted his eyes; he didn’t want to see more. As the cold sensation reached up his neck, he sent a silent apology to Jessamine, to Emily, to lives cut short. _I’m sorry. I failed._

His lips started to crack and peel, and his teeth felt too heavy and loose in his mouth. Corvo spat them out, smoke and ash pouring from his mouth, watching numbly as they clattered to the stone floor before landing in a growing pool of black, brackish blood.

Corvo tried to scream, but all that came out was loud, mournful whalesong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is taken both from the traditional 1780 children's nursery rhyme, while the chapter is named after the song by the Counting Crows that presents the modified version of said rhyme.
> 
> This is my first fic in this fandom; please, comment and let me know what you think! I'm also looking for a beta for this!


	2. Wrapped in Strands of Fist and Bone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone is wondering what Corvo looks like, we have art! I took heavy inspiration from the Corvians (especially the Corvian Knights) from Dark Souls 3, but with feathers and a more human face.
> 
> Thank you @plaguedeities for the lovely rendition of Corvo (seen below)!

                                                                   

A gunshot echoed across the walls of his cell, startling Corvo awake. Thin, watery daylight streamed through the small window, momentarily blinding him as he opened his eyes. Every inch of him ached; his limbs felt stretched, like he had spent too long on the torturer’s rack, and his mouth was raw. Had they pulled out another tooth? He raised a hand to probe at his jaw and froze when it came into view.

His forearm and wrist were thinner, longer, and covered in overlapping black scales. They looked delicate, but as Corvo numbly flexed his hand, he could feel the cartilage and muscle beneath the surface. It was avian, meant for gripping, and each finger was tipped with viciously wicked claws.

As Corvo brought up his other similarly monstrous hand, the memories from the day before-- the Lord Regent, the hot iron, the strange experience with the shaking and darkness, _the feathers sprouting and his skin peeling back--_ rushed back in a sudden, terrible flood.

Horrified, Corvo sat upright, unbalancing as his unwieldy new limbs refused to cooperate. He was easily a foot larger, his limbs longer and uncoordinated. Corvo tumbled off of the stone block, landing with a small splash in the detritus below. It was only when he saw the state of his prison that he truly panicked.

 _Outsider’s eyes_ , the whole cell looked like the scene of a brutal murder: blood coated the ragged blankets and parts of the wall, and a combination of shriveled strips of skin, teeth, and strands of his long black hair had mixed with the filthy water on the floor to make a disgusting crimson slurry.

Half a dozen rats that had gathered around the edges of the mess scattered as Corvo scrambled backwards, his claws leaving furrows in the stone as he skittered back on all fours. He didn’t stop until his back hit the bars of his cell, and only then did Corvo collapse in a heap, suddenly exhausted. The first few deep breaths he took were shaky; the animal part of his brain wouldn’t shut off, and his heart was pounding with adrenaline.

He cupped his face in his hands, mindful of the talons, and blocked out the world for a moment. Breathe. He needed to escape. That’s all he needed to focus on right now. Escape, and nothing else.

Hours passed. The orange light of the sun was visible when Corvo lifted his head out of his hands and shakily rose to his feet. For once, he thanked Burrows’ penchant for cruelty; the guards were often ordered to withhold meals and keep him isolated in order to weaken his resolve, and it was likely the only reason his transformation had not been noticed. He avoided looking down at his body, now strangely altered and covered in a mixture of dark feathers and fur. If he focused on it, he would panic again, and it would take far longer than a few hours to piece the broken fragments back together. He would break, but only after.

Corvo sighed, and a thin stream of smoke and ash trickled out of his mouth. He immediately closed his jaws with a snap, his now-sharper teeth clicking together loudly, and took a few more deep breaths.

Night was falling, and the guards still hadn’t stopped near his cell. A small blessing, but there was likely to be a midnight patrol. He had time to prepare.

Casting around the cell, Corvo saw his shabby Lord Protector coat, untouched by the bloody mess. He bundled it under his arm; it was the only proof of his identity, even if it was circumstantial. Distantly, he wondered who he could turn to once he escaped. Curnow, who had accompanied him on the journey around the Isles, was an honest man, but the City Watch was clearly under the control of the Lord Regent. There would be a risk even approaching any remaining center of civilization; with the ongoing threat of the plague, the City Watch had doubled down on patrols and installed Sokolov devices on every street corner.

He shelved that thought. Escaping prison was the first priority. The walkway overseeing the yard was his biggest issue; there were constant patrols overhead that would spot any attempts to sneak past. If he could take out the guards there, it would buy him some time before the next patrol passed through. It would be fully dark by then, and the harsh lights of the prison ruined any sort of night vision. The execution yard would likely be his best bet, as the main gates were sealed throughout the night and the bridge was extremely well lit. From there, the Wrenhaven, and the sewers.

Corvo gingerly made his way around the detritus and peered out his small barred window. His cell overlooked the execution yard and the large wooden platform, well lit by the bright white lights placed along the wall. It was empty at present, save for a few moving silhouettes. The far wall led to a steep drop into the river, partially blocked off by slabs of stone and razor wire, but Corvo wasn’t too worried.

Time passed. Corvo used the ratty blanket to scoop up the scattered teeth and pushed them down the latrine bowl. He couldn’t look at the teeth directly; it was surreal to think those had been in his mouth, mere hours ago. Once the pieces had vanished into the sludge-ridden pipes, Corvo shuddered and tossed the blanket over the remaining mess before retreating to his spot near the bars. With the blanket over the scraps of skin, it was easier to focus. It was easier to pretend.

When he finally heard the scuffled steps approaching his cell, Corvo was ready. His new arms could easily fit through the gap in the bars, and as soon as the guard in question appeared, Corvo struck.

 The man barely had time to gasp before claws tore into his coat and yanked him sideways, slamming his head into the bars. With the guard disoriented, Corvo flipped him around into a chokehold easily, the man’s pulse beating frantically under his grasp as he feebly struggled. He felt powerful- if he just added a little more pressure, the guard’s neck would snap like a twig. The man’s hands futilely beat against the bars, and Corvo felt a rush of sadistic pleasure.

When the man finally went limp, Corvo had to force himself to take his hand away from the man’s neck. He trembled with the unspent adrenaline, fumbling at the guard’s pouches until the fabric tore and the contents scattered across the ground. It took a few steadying breaths to stop the trembling enough to insert the key into the lock, and when the cell door slid open Corvo slumped back against the wall.

When the rush faded, Corvo was left with a sudden spike of exhaustion. He looked at his clawed hands before carefully using a talon to check the guard’s pulse. The man was still breathing, but the skin on his neck was an angry red, and every exhale had a slight wheeze. Corvo exhaled quietly, the tension easing out of his shoulders. The guard would have a nasty bruise, but he would live.

Corvo rose to his feet, dragging the man over to the far corner before ripping his shirt into long strips and binding his hands to the sewage pipe. The cloth wouldn’t hold up against a prolonged struggle, but it would have to do. He used the last piece of cloth to gag him. Once that was done, Corvo checked that his coat was safely secure under his arm, and then locked the cell door.

He stayed low as he started down the cellblock; for reasons he didn’t want to examine just yet, he could move rather well scuttling across the ground on all fours. Although the harsh lights were on overhead, there were still deep pools of shadow that he could use for cover. The other cells were silent and dark as Corvo crept past, though in a few he could see the cherry-red dot of a lit cigar. Either the other prisoners hadn’t heard the commotion, or they just didn’t care. Regardless, Corvo was grateful as he made his way silently out of the wing.

Security in certain places were noticeably lax. It was almost too easy to avoid some of the patrols passing through, as they barely looked anywhere but straight forward. When Corvo had been brought out for interrogation, the patrols had been more vigorous, and he had been under tight guard. Perhaps it had been the threat of visitation from the Lord Regent, who supplied their precious coin and elixir, but as Corvo watched a guard sloppily take a leak from the upper catwalks, he doubted that the Regent ultimately changed much.

Reaching the upper catwalks that overlooked the inner prison yard was far easier than Corvo had anticipated. One of the guards carrying the key even had his back to Corvo’s entrance, leaning casually over the railing with a bottle of whiskey in his hand. He barely made a sound as Corvo’s arms locked around his neck and dragged him backward. As the man thrashed, the bottle of whiskey dropped to the floor and shattered. Instinctively, Corvo froze.

He could hear footsteps on the catwalks, and as he spotted one of the guards below looking up, he quickly dragged the unconscious body back through the doorway. As the door swung shut, Corvo propped the guard against the adjacent wall, and then climbed the pipes overhead. If someone came in, the door would conceal the body. Outside, the footsteps drew closer.

“Someone’s supposed to be on duty over here,” The guard said, and Corvo heard a second set of footsteps approach.

“Kinley’s fucked off again, hasn’t he?” The other voice said, and Corvo heard the crunch of glass.

“He probably scampered off so he doesn’t get written up for being drunk again,” The first guard snorted, “Hannon already reduced his ration of elixir after last week.”

“What happened last week?” The other guard asked, and Corvo slowly let the tension seep out of his body. He remained where he was, precariously perched on a small pipe above the door, waiting for the two to return to their routines. If his luck held, he could-

The door swung open beneath him, and he saw the guard’s helmet appear as he stuck his head through.

“The idiot accidentally glassed one of the maintenance crew, and the choffer raised a huge fuss with the captain,” The guard said, giving a cursory glance over the darkened room before turning back to his companion. “He’s not in here. Come on, I know where his ‘secret’ stash is. Let’s go before he gets too shitfaced to walk.”

The door slammed shut, and Corvo slowly dropped down from the pipe as the two guards’ footsteps slowly faded away. He pressed a hand to his chest to calm his racing heart before easing the door open once again.

The men in the yard had turned their attention back to their patrol, but Corvo still plastered himself against the floor as he crawled closer. They followed a simple pattern around the yard, though they often paused for conversation. There were also open hound kennels scattered around the edges, easily breaking up the guards’ clear view. Sloppy.

There was no means to climb down without breaking a leg; the prison walls were smooth stone and carefully oiled to prevent the wear and tear from the constant rain and other elements. Corvo reached out and set his claws against the stone, but they only caught for a second before slipping off. His body was different; harder, larger, but he couldn’t risk his life on such a gamble. No, he’d have to pass by the interrogation room, and get into the yard by that route.

Corvo pulled back from the edge of the catwalk, and instead looked to his left to see the hallway that let to the catwalk spotlight control room, blocked by a barred door. He could see a flash of movement down the hallway, but no guard appeared after a few seconds of tense waiting. Kinley’s key opened the gate without issue, and Corvo eased it shut behind him as he passed through.

There was no means of concealment in the hallway, so Corvo plastered himself to the wall and made his way as quickly as possible to the the corner, his claws clicking noisily against the wooden flooring. Sacrificing stealth for speed, Corvo rounded the corner just as the guard whipped around to face him.

“What-” The man started to shout before Corvo’s hand clamped down over his mouth, his arms locking around the guard’s neck and muffling his scream. As soon as the guard got a good look at Corvo’s face, his eyes widened and he started to thrash wildly, like a desperate animal. His arm smacked Corvo’s eye and Corvo grunted, using his longer legs to send them both crashing to the ground. His boots kicked against the wood until Corvo forced them still, still keeping steady pressure around the man’s neck. The guard’s eyes rolled up into their sockets as he continued to jolt feebly, until he finally went limp and slumped back in Corvo’s grip.

Once the guard was safely concealed behind the light panel, Corvo kept a careful watch on both hallways. He had gotten extremely lucky this time, but as the night wore on, it was going to get more and more difficult to stay undetected. As for the guard’s reaction, he tucked that away with the mounting panic in his breast, something to be revisited later.

After a minute passed and there was no visible reaction from the yard patrols, Corvo slipped down the hallway and down another set of metal stairs. The interrogation room door loomed to his left, stained red and brown with rust and old splatters of blood. He found that his eyes kept slipping to it as he crept over to the door to the prison yard, and as he tested the lock he threw glances to it over his shoulder. Much to his dismay, the door was locked, and without any kind of tools at his disposal Corvo was trapped.

The interrogation door was unlocked, and the room beyond was empty. The brazier was unlit, the ashes cold, his blood had been washed away. Corvo traced his claws over the arm of the chair, scratching lines into the metal bands. Experimentally, he laid his hand in the manacle slot, carefully slotting the metal in place. His wrists were inhumanly thin, and once the metal clicked into place he could easily slip his hand out. These couldn’t hold him. Not anymore.

Besides the empty chair and brazier, there was little else. A massive portrait of the Lord Regent hung on the back wall, a back room filled with empty bottles and other torture implements, and an unused audiograph card. There was nothing that could help him get into the yard, and as Corvo returned to the door, he couldn’t ease the tension in his shoulder and neck.

Every passing minute led the risk of the unconscious guards regaining their senses or being found, and as he was now, the guards wouldn’t risk trying to recapture him. Grimacing, he squared his shoulders, and peered through the door’s keyhole. One of the guards would have to leave the yard eventually; he could get in that way. He would just have to be patient.

Moments passed like small eternities, and Corvo resisted the urge to fidget. When he heard the sound of an approaching guard, he locked his hand around the door handle. As the door to the yard creaked open, Corvo found himself silently cursing as the guard yawned and looked around before slowly making his way over to the interrogation room. When the man finally turned around, Corvo immediately eased open the door and darted forward.

The poor guy barely had a chance to gasp before Corvo choked him into unconscious. It was easier and faster after so many targets to practice on, and he dragged the body into the interrogation room and stashed him in a corner.

The yard itself was child’s play without a sentry on the catwalk or light booth. Corvo easily crept from pillar to kennel to the stairs. Despite the sparse cover, the three guards were content to face the other direction, facing the main body of the prison. Their banter continued unabated as Corvo slipped up the stairs, his confidence bolstered as he reached the deserted landing and passed the yard lights. He was so close- the yard was just past the next room.

As Corvo crossed the threshold, he barely managed to stop himself, nearly crashing into a uniformed back. Two guards were speaking merely inches  away, engaged in the end of a conversation. It was only a matter of seconds before one of them noticed him; he had to act fast. He knew where the execution yard’s door was, meters away, sealed behind the massive metal door, but he spotted a large pipe that stretched over the top.

Seizing his chance, Corvo darted over to the pipe, shoving past one of the guards. Taller and longer, it was easy to hook his claws into the metal and haul himself up, scuttling quickly across the gap as someone shouted behind him. He couldn’t look back, couldn’t slow down. He didn’t know how much they saw of him, but the time for hesitation was over.

The door leading to the execution yard was open, the guard who had been passing through looking back at the metal door. He had no time to react before Corvo jumped on him, using his weight to knock him to the ground. Corvo seized the man’s head and cracked it against the stone. Once the guard’s eyes closed, he stood up and continued outside. Behind him, the metal door started to rattle and move.

Huge flood lights lit the general area and the main execution platform. Corvo lifted his arms to shield his eyes from the brightness; the intensity from the lights made his eyes water and ache. The officer’s box and the controls were in the back, and as the shouts from inside the compound grew louder, Corvo scrambled over the rocky ground, outright dashing for the officer’s box. An alarm started to blare, and he could see the guards on the walls taking notice. His pursuers inside must have opened the door and found the guard. Corvo picked up his pace, his heart pumping in time with his steps.

In a great turn of luck, the box was empty and dark. A lever on on the wall slid open the whale oil receptacle, and with a firm yank the tank was removed. Half of the execution yard went dark. Another tank, and the whole area plunged into full darkness. The guards on the walls all started shouting, and Corvo heard bullets ping off of the sides of the box.

Despite the darkness, he could still see his surroundings clearly, and it made navigating the yard easier. The guards, who had been used to the glare of the flood lights, were temporarily blinded, and aimed blindly in the dark. More guards poured into the yard from the side door, but Corvo managed to dart past them undetected, putting on speed as the high stone wall came closer and closer.

He leapt, his fingers barely managing to reach the top of the wall. He hung there for a long second, his legs pumping as he tried to find a grip on the slick stone. A bullet whizzed past his head. Adrenaline flood his veins, and Corvo managed to swing his leg and haul his torso over the top. Razor wire cut at his face, and as he struggled through it he felt feathers being ripped from his sides and back.

He crashed on the other side, the stones below the wall driving the breath from his body. Winded, he panted for air, clutching his bruised and bloodied sides as he tried to catch his breath. Alarms started blaring over the speakers, and overhead, the drawbridge started to lower. Wheezing, Corvo managed to pull himself up to his hands and knees. It was a long climb down to the water. Summoning the last of his strength, Corvo crawled to the edge of the cliff and rolled over, bracing himself.

Icy cold water slammed into his back, and Corvo instinctively tried to breathe as filthy water closed over his head. He choked, his lungs trying to repel the water as he started to sink. Thrashing, he managed to surface, clawing at the surface as he pulled himself forward.

The sewer door was there, just within sight. His feathers were waterlogged and dragged him down with each stroke, but Corvo just managed to drag himself ashore as the bridge overhead clicked into place. The shouting hadn’t died down, and the alarms were pounding at his skull as they grew to a shriek. The sewer door was feet away; summoning the last of his strength, Corvo heaved the door open and threw himself inside. As the door clicked shut behind him, Corvo drew his first real breath since the execution yard. He had done it, he was out.

* * *

The rest of the journey through the sewers was a feverish haze of panic and confusion. Corvo was running on fumes, exhaustion and the wounds from his interrogation and razor wire burnig in his sides. He barely remembered clambering through the labyrinth of twisted, decaying passages, ducking and hiding from the invading patrols. At some point, he swam for a good half mile from the search party, surfacing only when he couldn’t hold his breath for any longer.

Finally, he stumbled out of a small pipe onto the shores of the Wrenhaven, shivering and exhausted. Corvo couldn’t tell the district; there were swathes of plague victims laid out on the shore, wrapped in grimy white shrouds. Dirty buildings loomed on the cliff overhead, but Corvo knew he didn’t have the energy to climb it at present.

He cast around, looking for any kind of temporary shelter. There was a small piece of sheet iron propped up against a rock with a lantern and grimy blanket set underneath, but any occupant had long since departed. Corvo barely managed to duck under the metal sheet before fatigue dragged him to the ground. His eyes closed, and before welcome oblivion claimed him he saw a flash of blue, and a pair of cold, dark eyes. His whole body burned, and then, there was nothing.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you wanna see more cool stuff by the lovely artist, go check them out here: https://twitter.com/plaguedeities 
> 
> Please, leave a comment if you can! I love hearing feedback or just a 'more please', it really helps my morale when writing.


	3. Casting Shadows on a Winter Sky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the wonderful comments! It really makes my day when I see someone leaves one, I really appreciate it. It makes my writing faster, and I feel way more motivated, so thank you :)  
> Chapter is un-beta'd, apologies for any errors.
> 
> Chapter Trigger warnings: body horror, blood/gore, violence

“The Lord Protector has gone missing from Coldridge Prison.”

Daud tiredly rubbed at his jaw with one hand as he looked up from the mess of papers on his desk to where Thomas was standing, sans mask. He glanced at the weak morning light slowly creeping through the grimy window, and sighed. His insomnia had only gotten worse after the Empress’ death, and nights had become nothing more than a painful blur. He beckoned Thomas closer, and pushed his correspondence aside.

“Gone missing?” he asked, standing up to examine the map of Dunwall pinned to the wall. “Not escaped?”

“Yes,” Thomas said, appearing silently at his side. “Lurk sent me back to report back what we knew as soon as we learned of it, but she took Leon and Rinaldo to finish the patrol and check the dead drops.”

Daud clasped his hands behind his back, keeping his gaze locked on the map wall. Billie would likely not return for some time; the drops were scattered all over various districts, and with the quarantine still in full effect, the guard patrols and towers would slow down travel considerably. His eyes wandered to the missing poster for the Lady Emily. After he had handed the girl off, she hadn’t been seen since. “Go on.”

Thomas nodded. “One of our informants was in the prison when the incident occurred, and was called to clean the Lord Protector’s former cell after the alert died down. Unfortunately, they didn’t see anything directly due to prison protocol, but there was a lot of talk before the Overseers arrived.”

“The Overseers were called?” Daud asked, raising a surprised brow. Even with Campbell as an ally of the Lord Regent, the rift between the City Watch and the religious sect was common knowledge. “Did our source catch the reason?”

Thomas nodded. “Suspected heresy. Numerous guards reported seeing some kind of monstrous creature fleeing the prison yard. Nothing much to go on except that it was huge, dark, and fast. Escaped into the sewers, which are being searched as we speak.”

“Not likely they’ll find anything,” Daud declared with a frown, pulling open one of the drawers and withdrawing a large roll of parchment. His Whalers had been slowly mapping out the sewer tunnels, and while they were incomplete, they had a perfunctory chart of Dunwall’s subterranean network. “And what of the Lord Protector? Proficient as he is, Attano couldn’t have escaped without outside assistance, and in our last encounter he had no supernatural capabilities. You mentioned that our informant had to clean his cell.”

Thomas bobbed his head. “Yes, something unusual occurred there, which is why I believe the Lord Protector was taken from his cell, rather than escaped under his own power. The informant reports that the cell had huge quantities of blood on the walls and the bed, as well as clumps of hair, torn fabric, and scraps of skin. They also found one or two teeth scattered in the mess.”

Daud paused, his hands lingering over the corners of the map as he sorted through the information. He had seen many grisly murders in his time (some of them done by his own hand), and he knew that without a closer look at the scene it would be impossible to piece together anything concrete.

“But no body?” He asked, turning to face Thomas. “Not even a toe or an arm? No blood or dragmarks found outside the cell?”

Thomas shook his head grimly. “None, which is likely another reason why the Overseers were called,” he said. “It’s not likely for something to mutilate a body to that extent and not leave something more substantial behind, but I would bet my coin that the creature that escaped had a hand in whatever fate befell the Lord Protector.”

“Not even Galia would take that bet,” Daud snorted good-humoredly, leaning over to trace the thin lines stemming from the Coldridge entrance. He felt rather than saw Thomas join him at the table.

“The sewers from Coldridge lead directly onto the banks of the Wrenhaven,” Daud stated. “but there’s some intersection in the tunnels that cross throughout the city. Without knowing more of this creature, it could be almost anywhere in the city. There’s plenty of boltholes the guards won’t search straight off due to the plague, but we’ll cover the closest districts first.”

“What are your orders?”

“Four-man patrols,” Daud commanded, taking colored pins and placing them in the different tunnels. Each one represented a patrol; Thomas, as one of the higher ranked assassins, would help divide them up as he saw fit. “Keep to our non-lethal parameters, but arm at least two of them with guns and incendiary bolts. I want the creature found and subdued, but if it managed to escape Coldridge Prison unscathed, it clearly has some intelligence or dangerous ability. I won’t risk patrols being unable to fully defend themselves. Assemble the patrols, but don’t send them out until Lurk returns. Have them meet here for the report.”

Once the pins were in place, Daud gazed over the map once more, rubbing a gloved hand over his face. He could feel real stubble starting to come in. Paperwork was still stacked up on his desk, but he had no energy to filter through the contracts and reports. When he turned back, Thomas was still present, despite the clear dismissal. He raised an eyebrow, and Thomas stepped forward.

“Daud.” Thomas was solemn now, and he pulled off his mask to reveal his mussed blonde hair, now damp with sweat, and intense pale grey eyes. “Do you think this is related to the Outsider’s message?”

Daud crossed his arms, and said nothing. The thought had, in fact, crossed his mind. Lurk had brought him whispers from the Rothwild Slaughterhouse, but he couldn’t see how the connections fit together without further investigation.

The Outsider had mentioned the Mark; Daud was one of eight Marked in the world. The black-eyed bastard wouldn’t have mentioned it if that information wasn’t relevant. Delilah could very well be another Marked, someone that the Outsider pit Daud against, like two hounds in a cage. Emboldened by the lack of protest, Thomas pressed on.

“Three months of almost no activity, and now this?” he said, gesturing towards Emily’s missing poster and the map of Dunwall. “The Lord Protector goes missing from Coldridge, a strange creature loose in Dunwall, and a dream from the god that hasn’t spoken to you in years? Things are being set into motion, and you’ve changed, ever since the death-”

“ **Stop**.”

Anger simmered in the back of Daud’s throat, choking back any further words. But Thomas had already gotten his point across. As he tried to formulate a harsher phrase, the younger assassin gave him one more meaningful look before transversing away, leaving Daud alone in frustrated silence, because as angry as he was, he couldn’t deny that Thomas made a valid point. He had changed.

Daud made his way over to the desk, his hand straying to the hilt of his sword. He drew it out, looking at his own scarred face in its polished reflection. He had spilt so much with this weapon, but it had remain clean and unused for months. Not since the Empress, and it seemed fitting that her blood might be the last to stain it.

As much as he had done so in the past, the thought of killing again, of going back to his routine as though nothing had changed… Daud slipped the sword back in its sheath, and then sat down at his desk once again. He knew no work would be done, but the piles of paper provided a convenience armrest as he cradled his sudden headache in his hands.

_“It’s one last mystery. One that starts with a name. Delilah.”_

Lurk would return soon, and then the patrols would be dispatched. He would visit the Rothwild Slaughterhouse soon, and discover the secret of the ship’s name. One last mystery, and then his story would be over.

 

* * *

 

_There were no specific features, but Corvo could make out singed scraps of the Dunwall guard uniform buried under the bodies. As he moved, the corpses behind him vanished into piles of ashes, curling up into the ever-present fume overhead. He couldn’t see what was ahead, the downward slope obscured by thicker and darker smoke._

_A flash of red drew his attention. A figure stood in the distance, their face silhouetted in the smoke and the light of distant fires, red coat a beacon in the dark environment. There was a gleam of metal at the figure’s side. Corvo didn’t know when he had drawn his sword, but it was in his hand as he dashed forward to meet the assassin._

_The assassin raised their blade, but Corvo blocked the swing easily, rage and adrenaline pounding in his ears as he slashed forward, tearing a wide line across the front of the coat. He blinked, and the shadow was suddenly at his side, their sword arching up towards his neck._

_Corvo managed to catch their arm, and then they were locked in place, weapons trembling in a contest of strength. As Corvo felt the enemy’s grip start to fade, he pushed forward, forcing the assassin to bend with his grip. There was a moment where they locked gazes; although the red coat was detailed, the person’s face was little more than shadowed features and the faint glint of bright eyes._

_“You killed her!” Corvo growled, forcing the assassin’s blade backwards. The swords whined as their edges scraped together, sending several sparks shooting into the darkness. The assassin took a step back under Corvo’s pressure, then another. Corvo put more strength behind his blade, throwing most of his weight onto the lock and trapping the shadow’s blade against his own body._

_As the assassin leaned back, Corvo lashed out, his fist connecting with the side of their neck. The aggressive energy from the shadow diminished, and as Corvo broke the sword lock, they turned away and started to flee, their hand glowing strangely. But before they could complete whatever made their hand glow, Corvo lunged forward and stuck the assassin in the lungs._

_The light faded from the shadow’s hand, and they stumbled forward, falling to one knee. Corvo yanked the sword out and planted one boot on the assassin’s back. They choked out black blood as he kicked them down to the ground, forcing their face into the ashes._

_“This is for her,” he whispered, lifting his bloody blade up. Light flashed off the metal, and the sword gleamed red amongst the smoke. It caught his attention for a moment, but he gripped his sword tighter and stabbed down, closing his eyes as blood splashed up against his cheek._

_“Corvo…”_

_Corvo looked down in horror to see he was standing over Jessamine instead, his blade now lodged in her sternum. Her blood was soaking into her fine clothes and hair. The sword was heavy in his hands, he gazed on, paralyzed. Jessamine arched up against the blade, forcing it deeper, and seized his ankle with a claw-like hand._

_“You could not save me!” she screamed, blood dripping from her mouth, “Avenge me! Kill them!”_

_She gave his ankle a sharp yank, and Corvo toppled backwards, cracking his head against a discarded helmet. The sword was ripped from his hand, but he could only watch in horror as Jessamine gave him one last glare of utter hatred before she froze, choking, her face losing its coloration rapidly._

_Blood started to drip from her nose, and her grip weakened, enough so Corvo could rip his ankle away. Corvo crawled as far as he could in the opposite direction, tears blurring in the corners of her eyes. He heard her scream behind him, but he kept pushing himself downhill, raising his sleeve to his face to wipe away the tears._

_The smoke was darker now, the black-blue-grey saturation of the squalls that regularly buffeted the Gristol coastline. A strong breeze whipped through his hair and stung his cheeks, but the smoke did not disperse, and Corvo stumbled on._

_He was unsure how long he wandered, but the corpses gradually faded away into fine, grey ash that kicked up around his boots in eddies. Thunder rumbled overhead, and in the distance lightning flickered and forked. When the light flashed, Corvo saw another silhouette in the distance, larger than the assassin._

_It was a statue of the new Lord Regent; Burrow’s harshly lined face was unmistakable cast in pristine white marble. As he approached, the harsh wind suddenly died down, and the thunder overhead fell silent, leaving behind an eerie silence. The statue was buried up to its waist in ash, but the half that remained still towered a good three feet over Corvo’s head._

_As Corvo stepped closer, he felt the cold white gaze of the statue lock onto him. When he approached closer, the marble head itself swiveled impossibly to meet his eyes. Corvo jumped back, his hand twitching as he went for his missing sword. As he watched, Burrow’s stony expression transformed into one of agony, and both eyes opened wider._

_The eye started to swell outward, the Regent’s stone face twisting into a pained scream as his face contorted and cracked. Blood started to dribble from Burrow’s tear ducts, staining the white marble pink. Though the harsh stone mouth never moved, nevertheless Corvo recognized the Regent’s voice._

_“Kill me! Kill me!”_

_The eye burst in a shower of gore, and something black wriggled in the depths of the socket. A crow’s head emerged, the feathers slick and red with fluid. Cataract white eyes locked on him, and the creature started to struggle, splintering the marble trapping it._

_The Regent’s face fell away chip by chip, and now the blood had become a constant stream, pouring down the marble and forming a small puddle at the base. The crow was nearly all the way out, and as a grisly wing emerged, the stream became a flood. Corvo backed away as soon as the blood lapped at his boots, but soon he was up to his ankles, no matter how far he retreated._

_The air stank of pungent copper, and though Corvo’s sleeve was over his nose and mouth he could taste the bitter scent in the back of his throat. He broke into a run, glancing back at the statue. The marble had gone from white to crimson, and the strange crow had freed itself. It looked at him, and Corvo through he could see a red glint in those white eyes. It spread its wings and took flight, aiming straight for him._

_Corvo broke into a run, not daring to look back this time. Some instinctual part of his brain spurred him towards flight, warning him of the presence of a predator. He felt feathers brush past his cheek, and then the crow’s beak scored a line across his temple. Corvo threw himself to the side, sending up large red waves that soaked through his coat instantly. The crow wheeled overhead, and thick, black rain started pouring from the sky. Where it touched the bloody waters, sickly brown plants bearing needle-sharp thorns started to emerge._

__“Kill them! Kill them!” The crow shrieked, blood spattering from its beak, “Kill them all!_ **_Kill D_ ** **_—_ ** _”__

Corvo opened his eyes with a small scream, his arms already coming up to ward off the crow’s next attack. He heard rather than felt the impact of his hand striking the metal sheet, and when he looked up frantically he felt the tip of his beak (and wasn’t that a weird notion) scrape across the top of his makeshift shelter. His heartbeat was pounding wildly, and as he sat up it took almost two minutes of trying to control his breathing to slow it down.

It was a dream, but it had felt so vivid, so natural, that the waking world was washed out by comparison. Looking down at his claws, Corvo realized that in the dream, he had been human, too.

Outside the overhang, a steady rain petered down, beating a steady tempo against the stone. He was damp, but not shivering. The new feathers seemed to be doing a remarkable job of shedding water, and when Corvo placed his hand on the stone it wasn’t freezing to the touch.

Thunder rumbled in the distance, and as Corvo peered out he could see the distant flash of lightning. His stretch of shore was littered with shrouded plague victims, the bodies scattered haphazardly amongst metal scrap and various bits of trash. But there was no sign of the City Watch, at least not yet.

Corvo tucked his coat under his arm and crept out from under the metal sheet, his head swiveling back and forth. This was one of the quarantined districts, no doubt, one that the Watch hadn’t gotten around to cleaning up yet. He didn’t need to be seen by looters, or, Outsider forbid, a horde of Weepers.

It had been dark when he escaped, but his flight through the sewers had been a blur. He couldn’t place how much time had passed; at best he estimated that it was just after dawn, from the placement from the light. Corvo kept low to the ground as he moved past the piles of bodies, trying to appear as nothing more than a shadow on the beach. The City Watch had boat patrols, and he had no doubt he had kicked the bloodfly nest after his escape.

He had been an extremely valued prisoner of the Regent’s, and his execution would have been an Isle-wide event. Campbell and Burrows would have likely already heard of his disappearance. The ‘creature’ would raise some questions, but he was sure that the two wouldn’t connect the dots in that way. Heresy in this city had mostly been creating effigies, rituals, and strange behavior, not in the manifestation of monsters, at least as far as what he had observed on visits to the Abbey. Corvo himself had heard of nothing like this, even back in Karnaca. No, more likely they would think he was attacked and taken, whether as a prisoner or corpse.

He felt a dark sense of satisfaction as he reached the bottom of the natural cliffside, stretching up. No doubt they would be worried about a new foe, one with considerable reach to arrange a break-in at Coldridge. He hoped it would haunt their evenings, Burrows especially. Corvo started to scale the cliff as quickly as he could. The natural rock eventually gave way to aged bricks, which even at this height was littered with graffiti warning of the plague.

When he finally pulled himself over the top of the wall, he was greeted with a narrow view of deserted, trash-ridden streets from a small alleyway. Corvo kept to the shadows regardless, lowering himself slowly to the ground without even a whisper. There was a door immediately to his left, and it swung open under his touch, leading into an open stairwell. Half of the doors were boarded over, and the top floor was blocked off by an entire barricade of various household items and trash.

He could hear some moaning from beyond the barricade, and turned away. He wasn’t willing to test if his new body was immune to the plague, and there had been no elixir for prisoners in Coldridge. It would be an ironic and ignoble end, to escape his prison and die of plague before any plans could be made to reclaim the throne.

Corvo instead broke open the first door that wasn’t covered by offal or boarded up, entering dusty but largely intact rooms. There was a small kitchenette and a musty bed, but no Weepers or swarms of rats. The walls were clear of graffiti, and though clothes and other items were missing, it was largely untouched by the effects of the Rat Plague. Corvo secured the broken door with one of the dressers and a couple of the end tables before tossing his coat across one of the couch arms.

It wasn’t a secure place, and wouldn’t hold up to one of the heavy-duty searches the City Guard was capable of, but they would need time to gather the numbers to deal with an area sectioned off because of the plague. It would do for now, just so Corvo could take a much-needed breather. He had seen a small mirror as he searched the apartment, but he had avoided looking at it. Now, as safe as he could make himself, Corvo felt the panic and hysteria that had been simmering in the back of his mind start to seep through.

His breath picked up as Corvo slowly made his way across the apartment, over to what looked like a small vanity, adorned with a small dusty hairbrush and an empty perfume bottle. Behind it was the mirror, and from where he was standing he could see a glimpse of his chest, heavily layered in ink-dark feathers. Drawing a steadying breath, Corvo crouched down, and looked at his new face.

The first thing he saw were his eyes; they were white, similar to the Pandyssian rats that carried the plague in the sense that they lacked visible pupil or iris. His hair was a long, shaggy mess, easily reaching back to his shoulders. Corvo could see feathers interspersed amongst the hair, but what caught his attention the harsh changed to his face. No longer could he see the boy from Serkonos, aged prematurely by the stress of protecting the Empress and politics. His skin was still the same tanned hue, but it had a different texture; scales, not human flesh. His nose had been absorbed into the shape of his new beak, which took up the majority of his face.

Corvo pulled away from the mirror and sat down against the vanity, shutting his eyes against the sight of his inhumanely long legs stretched out before him. He buried his face in his arms, sucking in a few deep breaths. His eyes watered, but there were none of the tears that he had expected. Could he even cry anymore?

Corvo shook his head, trying to shake off the thought. He had lost his home, his Empress, his daughter, and now, his body. His sanity was going by the day; how long would it take for him to truly have nothing left? He couldn’t take on an entire regime by himself even when he was human, and now, who would want to work with a monster? Standing up, he opened his beak to yell, but instead nothing less than an ear-splitting screech pierced the air. He froze.

He hadn’t even thought of it until now, after holding his silence for months. He opened his beak, and tried to speak, but only loud cawing came out. Panic welling in his throat, he tried again, his beak clacking loudly as he tried to better shape his words. Corvo still had a tongue (longer than he had remembered), and after a few moments he croaked out a couple of words:

“Time. Plague. Empress.”

His knees buckled under the sheer weight of relief, and Corvo stumbled over to collapse onto the nearby couch. He could hear the footsteps upstairs from the Weepers that had been roused by the noise, but at the moment he could care less. Even after all his loss, Corvo still had his voice. That was something, and as reality pressed in, Corvo curled up in a ball and thanked the Void that he could still hold on to something normal.

His eyes burned and watered, his form trembled, but he still had something. It was enough of an anchor, for now. He could build himself back up, brick by brick, even as he made a gross hacking noise in lieu of a sob. He would fall apart now, where he was safe. When it was done,he would find where the Regent stashed Emily, and restore her to the throne. But now, he mourned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you know birds can't shed emotional tears like humans do? Their eyes get watery when they are sick, but they can't cry from emotion.
> 
> Gimme some comments, I live off of them. :')


	4. Feathered by the Moonlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A visit to a strange place, and an unexpected encounter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, the Dishonored Wiki is such a godsend for helping me remember the names of Daud's assassins. I had been replaying the DLCs on loop (why it took so long to write this, ahah) until one of my friends told me about the wiki names, praise the Void!

_“I must say, this is an unexpected turn of events.”_

Corvo startled, nearly overturning his chair as he scrambled to his feet. He remembered nodding off at the small kitchen table for the third day in a row, but he could have sworn he heard a familiar voice. The small lamp on the stove shone with a white-blue tint, and as Corvo looked around, he found that while his room looked the same, he was somewhere else entirely; another world, shining through holes in a paper-thin backdrop.

The glass doors leading out to the balcony were thrown outwards, but all Corvo could make out beyond them was a thick, bluish mist that reeked of seawater and whale oil. As he stepped forward past the couch, a rustling behind him drew his attention. His precious papers, the hand-drawn layouts of buildings he had painstakingly made over the past few days were scattered as if by an invisible wind, but frozen in midair.

When he reached out and touched one, the paper did not give under the weight of his finger. It undeniably still felt like paper, if unnaturally cold. The walls of his shabby room had been stripped away in places, the natural grey rock of the islands showing underneath. Beyond that, there was a yawning blue emptiness. When Corvo turned back towards the balcony, a path assembled before his eyes. White marble stairs, identical to the ones from Dunwall Tower, curved upward out of sight, beckoning.

As soon as Corvo mounted the first step, he felt the ground buck beneath his feet, and seized the balustrade in his claws as the building behind him wrenched free of the balcony and started to ascend. Dumbfounded, Corvo watched as the entire apartment building swooped upward, joinings boats, lampposts, and other debris free-floating through the emptiness, driven by some unseen current.

The sound of a non-existent wind whistled in his ears, and Corvo looked on as water flowed upward from pipes into the infinite blue mist. Islands of Gristol stone and chunks of building bobbed chaotically, and between two of them he saw a leviathan, fully grown, anchored in place by massive hooks and chains.

The beast gave a mournful cry as Corvo progressed up the stairs, a deep song that resonated in his bones. Somehow, he could sense the tone, and it was _welcoming._ He shivered. Although he didn’t want to believe it, he knew where he was. The sensation of the Void was altogether too familiar. As Corvo crested the top of the stairs, a sudden influx of cold forced him to halt.

_“Hello Corvo. Your life has taken a turn, has it not?”_

Corvo whirled around. Just behind him, hovering a good foot or two in the air, a figure looked down at him. They appeared human, but their features were too perfect, their motions too fluid. Corpse-pale skin, tinged with blue around their lips contrasted starkly with their black ensemble and slick, wet hair. Their eyes were black as the sea in storm, and in them Corvo could see his monstrous face, distorted. A steady waft of smoke billowed from their shoulders and arms, providing an ominous backdrop to the Outsider’s presence.

Stunned, Corvo remained still. The Void had been much more of an abstract construct in his life, even with ample evidence of heresy. The Outsider, even more so. Countless instances of the phrase ‘THE OUTSIDER WALKS AMONG US’ graffitied on brick walls around Dunwall were nothing to the alien sensation he felt washing over him. Though he was in an otherworldly plane, at the same time Corvo felt similar to a man submerged, the world rocking around him as the tide swells overhead. Undeterred by his silence, the entity continued, folding their arms as if they were simply pondering aloud.

_“An outcome neither of us could have predicted. The threads of time have snagged, and even one such as I cannot see what will emerge from the knots.”_

The black eyes suddenly locked onto Corvo, and the deity turned to face him directly. Their lips curled upward into a small smirk, but their gaze remained cold and impassive.

_“Monstrous actions beget a monstrous outcome, my dear Corvo, even if you will never meet the monster itself. Blood seeps through the cracks in the world, blood that must be answered for. Changed as you are, you yet still play a pivotal role in the times to come. For this I have drawn you into the Void. I am the Outsider, and this is my Mark.”_

Corvo bit back a scream as his left hand twitched in sudden pain; back in Karnaca, he had once touched a block of ice in the Duke’s palace, keeping his hand pressed against the surface until his hand burned from the cold. The sensation in his hand resembled that paradoxical pain, the icy burn. When he raised his arm, he saw the aforementioned Mark appear, starkly white against the black of his scaled hand.

Speechless, he gazed up at the deity; the truth failed to register, as it felt too outlandish. This was something out of the sermons of the Abbey, except the Outsider hadn’t even tried to tempt him into accepting heretical powers.

 _“There are forces in the world and beyond the world, great forces that men call magic,”_ the Outsider stated, and faint amusement crept into their tone. _“As you have discovered to your detriment. With my Mark, these forces will serve your will. You have been molded by effects beyond your control; I look forward to see what you do with it in the days to come. Now…”_

The deity snapped their fingers, and the island rumbled beneath Corvo’s feet. He turned to see rocks and other objects flying up from the emptiness around them and snapping into place, forming a patchwork path spiraling upwards towards a familiar pavilion, with its gabled roof and the Kaldwin family crest fluttering between embossed white columns. Corvo’s heart sank, and when he looked back at the Outsider, the entity’s earlier amusement was gone.

 _“Come find me,”_ the Outsider said, pointedly glancing down at the Mark, and then vanished in a flurry of ash and smoke. Corvo was left standing alone on the island, the cries of the chained whale echoing across the Void.

Speechless, Corvo turned over his hand, examining the Outsider’s Mark. When he carefully traced a claw over it, he felt nothing unusual. There was no raised skin or other physical marker but the Mark was painfully visible. Had it not been a bold white, Corvo would never have noticed it amongst the scales, not that he was worried about anyone seeing it. Once glance would tell anyone what they needed to know in terms of whether Corvo was heretical or not.

Regardless of his anxieties over the matter, Corvo was still in the Void, and the Outsider had given him a specific set of instructions that seemed to be his only way out. Either way, he wasn’t about to anger a deity that could grant powers on a whim, so Corvo started forward, carefully picking his away among the crumbled piles of bricks and large spears of stone.

There were clear aspects of Dunwall amidst the rubble, seemingly drawn from Corvo’s own experiences- he saw the ugly gilded walls of the Pendleton estate, complete with a golden fireplace adorned with ship motifs and umberwood carvings, as well as the familiar blue drapes of Dunwall Tower. Dread settled in the pit of his gut as Corvo climbed onward, knowing what awaited him at the top.

Keeping his eyes locked on the pavilion looming up ahead, Corvo barely caught himself when the path suddenly came to a jagged end, a building perched on the underside of the stone pitching down into the formless Void. He nearly pitched forward, barely anchoring himself on a sturdy lamppost, and looked at the yawning blue abyss below. There was a large gap between the two islands, farther than Corvo dared to jump. He cast around for an alternate path, but there was nothing but empty space around the island.

Corvo felt the Mark humming under his skin, and when he looked across the gap in the islands he could suddenly picture exactly where he would land. A tingling spread under his skin, not dissimilar to the feeling he got near a Wall of Light. The Mark lit up like a beacon. He focused in on the feeling, like sinking slowly into icy waters, and when the sensation covered him Corvo felt an echo in the back of his mind. It was another sense, akin to taste and touch, another method of perceiving the world. He knew what he could do.

He clenched his fist, and felt the strange energy build up, like the engine of boat revving up, and when he released the energy there was a flash, the Void compressing around him into a solid, narrow tunnel of blended colors and sounds. There was a weightless feeling, a tugging in his gut as wind rushed past his cheeks, and then suddenly he was standing on the edge of the far island, balanced precariously on the rocks. Corvo looked back, and saw the gap behind him.

Elated, Corvo concentrated again. He felt the power coalesce, and he easily crossed the next gap with superhuman speed. The range seemed to be limited, but the rush that came each time he blinked from place to place was exhilarating. It took a matter of moments to traverse up the path to the topmost island, though he was sweating heavily by the time he came to the edge of the pavilion, and the strange energy from the Mark had nearly vanished. Corvo looked down at the Mark, and tried to use it once more, but the sigil refused to glow, and the power remained inert. He looked up from his hand, and swallowed a cry as he realized that the pavilion was not empty.

Jessamine’s body stared vacantly up into the ceiling of the pavilion, the pool of blood frozen in time. Corvo approached slowly, hesitantly; he remembered her screaming and accusations from the terrible dream from the previous week, and how it felt to plunge the blade into her chest. But even as he crept closer, the body did not move or speak. A folded note lay at her side; Corvo retrieved it carefully, unwilling to make contact with any part of pale corpse. When he opened the note, he saw it was comprised of two sentences, repeated over and over dozens of times:

TIME WILL NOT UNWIND

TIME WILL NOT UNWIND

TIME WILL NOT UNWIND

YOU CANNOT SAVE HER

YOU CANNOT SAVE HER

YOU CANNOT SAVE HER

Disgusted, Corvo threw the note aside. The Outsider had a twisted sense of humor, to leave this on the site of Corvo’s greatest regret. He looked beyond the pavilion, and saw that while he had been distracted, the Void had brought forth more obstacles to cross. Casting one last glance at the body of Jessamine, Corvo gathered the power once more, and started to traverse across the hovering tableaus of city life.

The Outsider’s strange brand of humor carried across the rest of the journey. Corvo passed by frozen scenes of Dunwall: the Lord Regent scowling at a map, tallboys chasing a terrified couple, masked nobles with cups raised in a toast, and Weepers lurking in derelict buildings. He also saw images that made him hurry along the Outsider’s set path: Emily, desperately trying to fight the grip of two strange men, and Curnow, regret clouding his features as guards nailed up huge posters with Corvo’s human face plastered all over them.

When Corvo finally reached the last island, he stood at the foot of a tall, ominous shrine. Splintered and jagged wooden planks spread out in a large fan, bedecked with iron spiked wire and draped in eerie purple cloth. At the center of what could be called an altar sat a strange human heart, pulsating softly in time with the gears whirring in the center of the contraption. Beneath the heart sat great disks of bone, all bearing the same symbol on Corvo’s hand.

As Corvo stepped towards the altar, a screech and frantic movement drew his attention. A live crow, nearly identical to the one from his nightmare, looked down at him from the top of the shrine, beady red eyes leering down at him from behind a screen of sharp wire. The creature was tangled up in the shrine, and when Corvo drew closer he could see that it was impaled on a large splinter of broken wood, and the barbed wire wrapped around its throat. It screamed at him with every step, and frantically flapped its broken wings, wedging itself deeper on the splinter and dripping fresh blood onto the shrine.

 _“Kill them! Kill them!”_ The crow squawked weakly, blood drops flying everywhere. Corvo backed away as the creature’s cries grew fainter and fainter. He nearly screamed when he ran into something cold and solid behind him. The Outsider gazed impassively at him for a moment as he shrank away, and then lifted their black eyes to look at the feeble spasms of the trapped crow.

 _“The consequences of change are far-reaching, Corvo,”_ the Outsider said, _“and your struggles will be great in the days to come. Every choice, every action will change the outcome of this world.”_

The deity vanished, reappearing over the altar. Behind them, the crow finally fell silent; the only remaining sounds was the slow dripping of blood on stone. The Outsider beckoned, and Corvo approached slowly. When he stood over the altar, the Outsider smiled down at him. The bones were smooth to the touch when Corvo reached out and picked them up.

The yellowed pieces were warm in his hands, and when he traced the Outsider’s sigil the mark glowed briefly before the entire pile melted away into smoke. Corvo startled as his Mark started to hum, and vertigo made him stagger for a moment. He was on the cusp of something new, something different than his blink.

 _“How you use what I have given you falls upon you, as it has to the others before you,”_ The Outsider stated. _“I grant you the Heart of a living thing, molded by my hands; it speaks of secrets within men, and will guide you to the ancient runes bearing my mark. These runes, as you have seen, will increase your control over the forces of magic.”_

The Heart, as the Outsider called it, was a contradiction. A mixture of flesh and metal, the object had a clammy, skin-like surface, but when it beat in Corvo’s hand he could feel warmth pulse through it. All the while, the deity kept their eyes on him, and Corvo didn’t dare to return the ‘gift’, as much as he felt nauseated. He had no doubt that this Heart had once been inside a living human. He squeezed the Heart once, and a familiar voice rang in his ears.

_“All time is meaningless here; neither seconds nor centuries.”_

Corvo choked, gazing at the object in horror as the window of the Heart lit up in his hands as Jessamine whispered, and above him, the Outsider smiled.

 _“Now I return you to your world, dear Corvo. Know I will be watching with great interest.”_  

 

Corvo screeched as he pushed backwards away from the table, his chair tipping over and crashing to the floor. Papers scattered everywhere, and the small oil lantern he had been using smashed to pieces as he struggled to get up. His long limbs tangled in the chair legs, and it took several embarrassing moments before he could center himself, panting heavily, and haul himself upright. He was back in the dingy apartment; sunlight shone through the grimy windows, and Corvo could hear the Weepers moving around on the floor above and in the stairwell, no doubt agitated by the noise.

As soon as he was oriented again, Corvo immediately checked his left hand, half convinced that the whole journey had been a dream. The Outsider’s Mark immediately dispelled that notion, lighting up as soon as Corvo turned his attention to it. The familiar power buzzed under his skin. Drained, Corvo righted his chair and collapsed into it, cradling his left hand in his right. Despite just waking up, he felt exhausted and wrung out. He looked around warily; the Mark was real, and that meant that the Outsider’s other nightmarish ‘gift’ was likely present as well.

A sudden weight in his lap made him look down. The Heart was inert, and surprisingly heavy. The small window into the inner gears was dark, but it still beat quickly, synchronising with his own rapid pulse. Arms trembling, Corvo let go of his hand, and cupped the Heart in his palms. He remembered the sad, familiar voice in ear, and tentatively squeezed.

_“Why am I so cold?”_

Corvo dropped the Heart like a hot coal. It landed on the floor with a wet, meaty squelch.

_“What have they done to me?”_

Bile rose in his throat, and he pushed away from the table, knocking over his chair again. He barely made it to the balcony, slamming open the door with one shoulder. Grasping the metal railing in his claws, he leaned over, and retched onto the street below.

* * *

 “Any luck so far?”

Galia, perched precariously on the edge of the rooftop, shook her head, her mask jostling with the movement. She turned to see Thomas standing behind her, Andrei and Finn trailing behind him. Finn had his mask off, and even from a meter or so away Galia could smell the stench of sewage wafting off his heavy coat.

“Nothing but krusts, hagfish, and bodies,” Thomas sighed, joining Galia at the edge of the building. Behind him Finn and Andrei transversed away, taking up sentry positions on the nearby roofs. This district was calmer than the rest, abandoned at the start of the quarantine, and largely untouched by looters, no doubt to the high metal barricades put in place by the City Watch and the district’s location on a steep cliff overlooking the Wrenhaven.

Daud had sent them to scour out the possible hiding places in each district based on their map of the tunnels for a week now, going through every abandoned building and dirty alley for any sign of the creature. The tunnels themselves were swarming with the City Guard search parties, desperate to avoid the Lord Regent’s wrath for such a high-profile escape and the disappearance of the Kaldwin’s ‘assassin’, the key to cementing his control of the throne.

Daud and Lurk were unable to search themselves, both currently dealing with the situation at the Rothwild Slaughterhouse and the promise of information about the Delilah, but the search was proving fruitless so far.

 **“** How many more days must we do this?” Galia muttered heatedly, looking away from Thomas to cast her gaze over the deserted streets. “We’re straining our supply of elixir from knocking out every single Weeper in a three mile radius, and Javier’s still holed up in the infirmary for those rat bites.”

Thomas stayed quiet, instead looking out over the rooftops with a vacant stare that Galia recognized as the Gaze. She had received the transversal and the Pull, as all of Daud’s assassins had, but Thomas had always been closer to Daud, their connection one Galia barely understood. Only one assassin in three received extraneous gifts from the Arcane Bond, and Galia tried not to let the familiar bitterness swell in her chest as Thomas stood and scanned the house beneath their feet. Behind Lurk, Thomas was the next favorite. If Billie croaked, he’d be the next to take the red.

“Daud thinks another Marked has plans in Dunwall,” Thomas spoke softly but firmly, leveling his cold gaze over the rooftops. “The Outsider marks those who end up the biggest players in current events- why else would he mention this Delilah to Daud otherwise? If this creature is behind the Lord Protector’s disappearance, then I agree with Daud, no matter the risks.”

There was a tense pause, and then Thomas signaled with his right hand. Galia heard Andrei and Finn vanish behind her, and Thomas stood up.

“These buildings are clear,” Thomas stated, reaching up to adjust his mask. “Galia, check the alleyways. We’ll cover you.”

He vanished. Wordless, Galia stood, and followed.

* * *

The first sign that something was amiss was the silence in the street. With the entire district sealed off, the only residents remaining were Weepers in the later stages of the plague. They wandered the streets in the daytime, leaving constant puddles of rancid vomit, and when the weather turned frigid at night they lurked in the foyers and stairwells. Regardless, Corvo had spent several days adjusting to the constant noise and residual smell.

After the incident with the Heart, Corvo had spent a better part of the day climbing and exploring the district to little avail; the artifact would follow shortly after, appearing in his hands or on his lap. It didn’t speak again, and Corvo didn’t dare to hold it too tightly, just in case. The constant heartbeat made the artifact too alive, too real.

He had also caught onto the fact that the Heart only beat so rapidly when it sought out one of the Outsider’s marked runes. It wasn’t hard to find, not with the Heart leading him on, like a fish caught on a line. There were charms, small trinkets of bone and metal that imparted small blessings. With no pockets or pouches to speak of, Corvo instead scavenged wire and thread, weaving the two he found into a makeshift necklace.

When his hands touched them, he instinctively knew what they would grant him; the bones themselves whispered and hummed, but not in any recognizable voice or tone. The runes simply dissolved in ash when he touched them, but as Corvo worked his way across rooftops and balconies he knew that he could teleport farther, higher. Once everything had been found, the Heart went dark and silent once again. When Corvo looked away, it vanished, but he knew it would be back again soon enough.

He was so caught up on the matter that it took far too long to register how the unnatural quiet of the district street. Immediately on alert, Corvo kept low as he made his way across the roof, keeping close to various overhangs and chimneys. He wasn’t worried about been seen from the street level, but if anyone looked out over the rooftops he would stick out against the gray slate tiles.

When he reached his own street, he slowed, taking cover behind a large trio of chimneys. He peered down, scanning the area; there were no Weepers in the street, though when he had left an hour previous there had been at least thirty moving about. A suspicious circumstance, since Corvo knew the City Guard was in no way subtle- there would have been gunshots or shouts if they had come to round up the Weepers, though Corvo doubted that event would ever occur. Looters would also be unlikely, not with the amount of Weepers missing.

A flash of movement caught Corvo’s eye, and he looked just in time to see a figure dressed in a whaler’s uniform and mask appear on the railing of his apartment’s balcony. He recognized those garments, and his claws left furrows in the brink of the chimney as he restrained himself from blinking across the street and tearing the assassin’s throat open.

They were wearing a gray coat, and Corvo could see sheafs of papers clutched in their hands. His diagrams, no doubt, and his kindled fury only increased, as it had taken days to make those; his new hands, with their wicked claws, were ill-suited to guiding a pen. As he watched, a second assassin appeared, confirming that they too were utilising supernatural powers.

Corvo thought back to the one that had been used on him, that forced him to dangle helplessly in the air. It was something to watch out for, even with his newfound abilities. The two assassins appeared to be talking, but with their voices muffled by the whaling masks Corvo couldn’t make out anything distinct. He had to get closer. When the assassins bent their heads over the papers, he quickly blinked across the street.

As soon as his feet connected with the roof, Corvo dropped to all fours. Corvo quickly cast around, but he saw no one else on the rooftops. Silently, he scuttled forward until he was perched just out of sight, on the off chance one of the assassins looked up.

“He’s been here recently-”

That was a feminine voice, through it was hard to tell through the thick rubber of the mask. There was footsteps, and the rustling of cloth and paper. Corvo inched closer to the edge, and risked a quick peek over. One of the assassins held up his Lord Protector coat, displaying the sigils of office. The other who was still mulling over the papers shook their head.

“ _Someone’s_ been here recently, Galia,” they said, “We don’t know for certain if Attano’s been living in this apartment, but whoever it is should still be in the district. That shattered lamp was still warm, and these diagrams seem too important to just discard.”

Corvo cursed silently, and withdrew slowly. He had been too careless, assuming that he had been safe due to the quarantine. Of course the Lord Regent would have dispatched his hired blades to search the blocked off districts; by this time, the City Guard would have searched Coldridge Prison and the noble estates.

“The creature’s been here as well,” The assassin Galia stated, her voice growing faint as she progressed deeper into his apartment. “Outsider’s eyes, look here! Thomas, what do you think?”

Corvo crept further back from the edge.  A prickling on the back of his neck put him on guard, and he scanned the rooftops again, suddenly wary. He couldn’t see anyone, but the sensation didn’t fade. Just in case, he held his energy in reserve, ready to teleport at the first sign of danger.

“Daud will want to hear of this,” Thomas said below, “No bird I know of in Gristol has a wingspan large enough to support this long of a feather. These scrapes weren’t made with a knife either. Signal the others; we’ll sweep the rest of the district and meet with Fisher’s patrol-”

Corvo didn’t wait to hear the end of the sentence; his claws screeched against the slate as he took off, bounding up the valley of the roof. He heard alarmed shouts from the apartment below, but he had larger concerns. As soon as he reached the apex, he saw out of the corner of his eye a flash of dark blue near the ventilation shaft of a nearby building, and something sharp pierced his shoulder. Corvo yanked out the offending projectile: a needle-tipped dart, with trace amounts of a strange green liquid.

He heard rather than saw the two assassins from the apartment appear behind him, and no doubt there were more unaccounted for. Change of plans. Corvo turned towards that flash of blue and mentally mapped out where he would land; his blink could make the distance to a roof. As soon as he released the power, he heard the surprised shouts behind him, but there was no time to relish the victory.

The assassin in the blue was exceptionally well-hidden; from Corvo’s method of approach, he would have never seen the person currently kneeling on the edge of the rooftop, concealed by thick metal vents and a low-lying wall. Corvo loomed above him, having teleported to the eaves directly overhead. The assassin was distracted by Corvo’s sudden disappearance and the shouts of his allies, and when Corvo dropped down their cry of surprise was muted by the whaling mask. Still, they struggled, and Corvo winced as their fist glanced across his beak.

The smell of rancid sewer water assailed him just as the assassin in his arms went limp, and Corvo looked up just in time to drop the unconscious form and sidestep a fourth assassin’s blade. This one smelled like river krust bile and fecal matter, and Corvo could see their mask and coat were damp. How many more were there?

They had a blade, but Corvo was easily twice the size of his assailant, and he took advantage of it and rushed forward. His training had prepared him for unarmed combat, and his newfound strength allowed him to seize the assassin’s elbow mid-swing and drive his palm into their throat.

The assassin staggered backward, clutching their neck, and Corvo charged forward, picking them up and slamming them into the ventilation duct. As soon as they went limp, Corvo seized them by the back of the coat and lifted them up into the air. A bullet grazed his thigh, but Corvo paid it no heed as he swung the assassin towards his remaining pursuers, a living shield.

The two remaining assassins were the ones from his apartment, and stood on the edge of the rooftop. The taller of the two had a gun, while the other aimed some contraption concealed in their sleeve that they had at the ready. The one he was holding groaned, and Corvo saw a dart embedded in their upper arm. As the taller assassin started to reload the gun, he saw his chance. Screeching, Corvo darted forward, still holding the limp body in front of him.

The two foes scattered, both of them teleporting in different directions. Corvo gathered the power in his hand, and when the gun-wielding assassin reappeared, he tossed the unconscious body in their direction, blocking any shot. He hissed as another dart struck him in the back of the leg, and stumbled forward as the world shifted unexpectedly. Still, he released the power, crashing face first into a open windowsill.

Catching himself, he hoisted himself through the frame, sprinting through a small, dusty room and dodging over sheet-covered furniture. He passed through a small kitchenette and bedroom before he found another set of glass doors, one left open to reveal a second balcony, facing across from another open window. There was a crash from inside the room behind him; he had seconds to choose a path. Corvo cast about, his heart pounding furiously. He had to lose them, now that he had lost the element of surprise.

There! A large rusting pipe wound its way down from the rooftop of the building, and crawled under the balcony, leaving a small, hidden gap. Corvo vaulted over the balcony railing and shoved himself under it as fast as possible, wincing as feathers were ripped from his arms and neck by sharp metal bits. He was far too large for the hiding place, balancing precariously on the slick metal with one leg dangling over the long drop, but he just needed to lead them on.

There! A large rusting pipe wound its way down from the rooftop of the building, and crawled under the balcony, leaving a small, hidden gap. Corvo vaulted over the balcony railing and shoved himself under it as fast as possible, wincing as feathers were ripped from his arms and neck by sharp metal bits. He was far too large for the hiding place, balancing precariously on the slick metal with one leg dangling over the long drop, but he just needed to lead them on.

There was a ripping sound behind him, one he associated with the strange teleportations of the assassins, and the balcony creaked under the weight of two new bodies.

“It couldn’t have gone far! If we hurry, we can catch up!” Galia’s voice demanded, though she sounded out of breath.

“ _Enough._ We have two down, and we’ve lost line of sight,” Thomas’ voice echoed harshly overhead, and Corvo winced. “You saw how that thing took care of Finn and Andrei; it could easily be waiting to ambush us. The gun barely phased it, what do you think you could do to it?”

“But-”

“No, we’re pulling back and waiting for Fisher’s patrol.” Thomas’ voice was cold and commanding; clearly, he was the leader of these specific assassins. “Andrei is unconscious, Finn is wounded, and Daud will hear of your recklessness when we report in. Now, do I have to knock you out as well, or will you continue your foolish behavior?”

There was a weighted pause.

“Fine,” Galia snarled, and with another ripping sound the assassins vanished.

Corvo waited under the pipe for another half-hour, just in case the mentioned second patrol materialized, or Galia decided to defy orders and return. As he waited, he pondered over the name he heard: Daud. The name niggled at Corvo, even as his back started to protest his position. He knew that name.

The assassin Thomas had mentioned it before at the apartment, but it had been forgotten amidst the tension and excitement. When Corvo’s back and limbs couldn’t take it anymore, he crawled out from his hiding spot. He wasn’t returning to the apartment; he had no doubt the assassins would watch it, and their stealth skills were superior. For now.

It wasn’t until Corvo was halfway back through the dusty apartment that the familiarity of the name struck. He remembered another boring state dinner, the whispers of the nobles. Daud. The infamous Knife of Dunwall, and no doubt the people Corvo had just fled were his gang of heretics. Dunwall Tower was isolating, and though Corvo had been prepared for assassins he had dismissed the Knife as mundane but talented wetworker, pumped up with the paranoias of the Abbey.

“Daud,” Corvo whispered to himself, clutching his necklace of bone charms in his claws. “Daud.”

He would remember the name now; it felt significant on his tongue.

 

_“Daud.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, friends, gimme some love :)


	5. As You Stood There Counting Crows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The city of Dunwall moves into another month of plague. Conspirators meet, the Lord Regent schemes in his high tower, the assassin Daud delves deeper into mysteries, and those affected by the new reign make do as best as possible. Corvo makes his first move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there! It's been a busy year. Between certification courses and grad school I've been very busy, so all my fun writing fell to the wayside. For my mental health, I couldn't keep doing this and all the work. I also got sick multiple times. But now that I'm better, hopefully I can take a breather and crank out more of the good stuff! Thank you for your patience :)
> 
> I’m not as happy with the chapter, but it’s best to move forward as best I can :)
> 
> This is also where I tweak some details of Dunwall, and the Abbey. We've seen in letters that some Overseers do disguise themselves and walk amongst the people, so I just expanded the idea!

The Hound Pits Pub brimmed with quiet activity. Wary eyes constantly watched the Wrenhaven; every half hour the River Patrol’s passage was marked and monitored. Behind the deserted waterfront and grimy glass windows servants scrubbed the sticky wooden floors and beat the dust out of ratty sheets, hard-faced people in workmen clothes filtered through the back entrances towards the alleyways and exits out of the district, and three figures looked out over the river and raised their glasses as one. A toast to new plans, and a new era for the Empire.

They would reclaim the throne, or die trying.

 

* * *

 

“Another one?”

Daud stared down at the corpse of the Overseer, the face bloated beyond recognition. The body was dressed in dockworker’s clothing and the hagfish had gotten most of the exposed bits, but the remaining skin, even clammy and drained of blood, was too pale for a common laborer. 

“Yes, sir,” Montgomery said, crouching over the corpse’s head. “We found his boat near the south barrier. He managed to get further than his predecessor, but he ran into the Weepers when he was trying to give Rickard the slip. Took his chances with the hagfish instead.”

Daud nodded. He knelt down and turned one of the corpse’s palms face up. There were faint calluses between the first finger and thumb, as well as across the palm; the Overseer hadn’t had time to develop proper ones to lend better authenticity to his disguise. 

The body’s fingers were curled forward like pale spiders; Daud grunted as the bones snapped under his grip as he forcibly pried the fingers apart. There, barely visible between the folds of the skin, was a tattoo of a pair of crossed hands. 

“Restless Hands,” Daud snorted, shaking his head. “Ink’s fresh, too. Montgomery, check his tongue.”

The other assassin nodded, prying the corpse’s jaws apart. A small puddle of sludge poured out between the man’s teeth and splashed Montgomery’s coat, but the assassin ignored it as he reached into the cavity and revealed the nibbled remains of the tongue. After studying the tongue for a moment, Montgomery shook his head.

“Nothing here. Looks like Campbell’s getting desperate, if he’s only sending in novices,” Montgomery remarked, wiping his grimy gloves on the dead man’s trousers.  

“Or he’s simply throwing bait,” Daud grunted, and ripped the corpse’s boots off to reveal a large black tattoo on the man’s heel, “to see where and when we take it. He can waste as many Hands as he sits fit, especially after the plague has left him with zealots aplenty. Many turned to the Abbey after the death of the Empress.”

  
The Hands were the spies of the Abbey; their selected members infiltrated the dregs of the world and dug out hidden roots of ‘heresy’ for the Warfare Overseers to purge with fire, swords, and hounds. The small bits of ink were a means of identification; for each of the Seven Strictures violated, the Hands placed a mark in corresponding locations. 

Each mark was unique; Daud had no doubt Campbell had another black book for his spies’ identity stashed away in his little Abbey.

“Perhaps he’s only putting in a minimum effort to appease the Abbey,” Montgomery said, reaching down and grasping the corpse’s arms as Daud picked up the legs. “His involvement with Burrows complicates matters; he knows that we assassinated the Empress, but the Abbey has ordered our capture or execution.”

“Burrows has yet to send the rest of the coin to the drops,” Daud grunted as they threw the corpse back into the canal. The hagfish immediately began to swarm again as the two assassins stepped back from the edge of the catwalk. “His letter indicated he wanted our services in helping secure his position should the need arise. Campbell may not agree, he was against using our services for the start.”

“And will you take him up on those services, sir?” Montgomery asked, a hesitant edge to his voice. Daud couldn’t see his face, but he knew the assassin was looking to the empty sheath on his belt. The blade was back near his desk, untouched. Daud glared, and Montgomery turned away with a small shrug. He knew it wasn’t worth the fight, unlike Thomas. Good. 

There was a sharp whistle. Daud looked up to see Leon lean over the edge of the roof. Leon signaled frantically, and Daud quickly transversed up to the rooftop. 

“What is it?” Daud barked as soon as he appeared. “What happened?”

“Thomas’ patrol was attacked by the creature,” Leon said quickly, pulling a small oilskin map of Dunwall out of his coat and holding it out. “Finn and Andrei were wounded; Fisher’s patrol saw the distress signal and sent Kieron back to base for reinforcements.”

Daud cursed silently. Even his precautions hadn’t been enough, and the city was quickly turning into a hotbed of supernatural occurrences and conflict. He took the map from Leon and unfurled it on the roof tiles, kneeling beside it.

“Show me where the attack happened,” Daud demanded, tracing Thomas’ patrol route. Their path wound through the Distillery District before crossing the Wrenhaven to Old Waterfront, and both locations had plenty of places for the creature to move freely and without detection. “How serious are the injuries?”

“Nothing life-threatening. Fisher found them around here-” Leon said, tapping at a spot on the map, near the edge of the Distillery District “-and the creature fled towards John Clavering, according to Thomas.”

Daud nodded, staring down at the map. If the creature was in the Distillery District, he could call off all the extra patrols on the other side of the Wrenhaven. With two bridges down and the extra security on Kaldwin’s Bridge, he doubted that the creature would be able to flee across the river. It also wouldn’t be able to move quickly in heavily populated areas like John Clavering. This was his chance.

“Montgomery, return to base. Take Marco, Pavel, and Aedan’s patrols and search the areas around John Clavering,” Daud ordered, tracing out a large circle around the boulevard. “I want everyone armed with pistols this time. If you see the creature, send up the signal and have the other patrols assist. If possible, capture it alive.”

Montgomery nodded, and vanished from sight. Daud stood and passed the map back to Leon. 

“Leon, with me,” he said, nodding at the other assassin as he strode towards the edge of the roof. Leon fell into step easily as Daud gathered the arcane energy in his hand and stared out across the flooded street. He took a moment to take in the sight of the dead District, inhabited only by the desperate and the dying.

Dunwall was changing drastically, and the Whalers were caught dead center in the maelstrom. Daud looked down to his empty sword sheath, and shook his head before traversing across the canal. He really had no one to blame but himself, didn’t he?  
  


* * *

 

John Clavering Boulevard was bustling during the day, despite the ongoing plague. The City Watch patrols were out in force and Sokolov’s Walls of Light flickered ominously near the periodic checkpoints Huge lines of laborers and other plainsfolk zigzagged across the square, forcing all foot traffic to slow considerably. 

Everyone was wearing cloth masks to ward off the plague, and anyone who coughed or looked sickly was quickly seized by the Watch and separated from the crowd. Corvo could see a few Overseers walking up and down the lines of folk, offering loud benedictions whose specifics words were lost amidst the crowd. 

From his perch on the rooftops, Corvo did his best to keep as low as possible as he watched over the boulevard. It was a definite risk to approach in daylight, but he would have to risk it with the recent encounter with the assassins. It would take him most of the day to cross this part of the city to Holger Square, and he wanted to be the before nightfall.

The Warfare Overseer compound was heavily guarded at all times, but the evening would be the best time to attempt a break-in. The guard shift would change and petitioners would be escorted out of the square as it closed to the public, leaving a small window of opportunity.

There was also no doubt that Campbell would still be there performing his duties as High Overseer, and he was Corvo’s best chance at learning where Emily had been taken. 

As a public figure, Campbell was the (relatively) easiest to access. Burrows was holed up from the fortress of Dunwall Tower, and the other conspirators were currently unknown. Corvo would make them pay for what they did, each and every one of them. His heart raced at the thought of Campbell suffering.

He made his way slowly across the plaza. Most of the delay came from the guards stationed on the balconies of some of the well-off houses. The families inside were likely ‘visiting family’ in Serkonos or Gristol due to the plague, but the City Guard’s presence deterred looters. 

Clasped in his free hand, the Heart pulsed feebly as he passed over the house; there was another rune nearby. Corvo made note of it as he Blinked across a large gap in the rooftops. He would come back later and clear the place out; the family could clearly afford to lose a few trinkets and a meal.

_ “Such corruption! Such hypocrisy!”  _ The Heart whispered to him.  _ “Somewhere near a man has just taken his last breath. His eyes are still open!” _

Corvo winced. No matter how many times the device spoke, he would never get used to  _ her  _ voice echoing in his ears. He clenched his fist around the Heart and let the contraption fade away. It would return, in time, but he had to focus on getting near Holger Square. 

The first checkpoint would be the most difficult to cross, but not impossible. The bridge was overflowing with foot traffic, and the City Watch’s inspection force easily 

numbered around 30 armed guards. Corvo was glad that there were no tallboys, as the stilt-riders would be easily able to spot him in his new position.

On top of the highest ventilation shaft he could find, Corvo aimed his Blink upwards, towards the harsh incline of the rooftops. It was risky- the ledge he was aiming for was barely a foot wide, but it was his best chance to get over the checkpoint undetected. He couldn’t afford to be found, not until he got what he wanted from Campbell. 

Corvo clenched his fist and released his power, reveling in the sudden rush as the world compressed around him. He landed precariously on the small ledge, sinking his talons into the slate to keep his balance. For a dangerous moment he teetered backwards, almost losing his footing. 

The drop yawned behind him and the muted roar of the crowd below vanished under the sound of his pulse hammering in his ears. Corvo seized the edge of one of the nearby windowsills and barely managed to right himself. Panting, he remained there for a few seconds to catch his breath. He looked up at the top of the building a few meters above him.

_ One step down, _ he reminded himself, looking down at the crowd below him. There was still a fair distance to Holger Square. Corvo took a deep breath, and started to climb.

 

* * *

 

 

“Your suspicions are correct, ” Daud remarked, gingerly lifting up the ragged coat. “This is certainly the Lord Protector’s.”

The coat was was heavily stained with blood, grime, and other substances. Most of the stains were older, no doubt a result of Coldridge’s hospitality. There were newer patches that Daud estimated to be around a week old; the remnants of blood flaked off at his touch as he gently probed the cloth. He also found puncture marks near the shoulders and sleeves, but there was no blood around those areas.

Thomas nodded, standing at attention beside the map table. Galia had been dismissed after the report, her punishment undecided. Daud knew she was headstrong, but charging in like she had was just foolish. He would speak to her later, after the situation with the creature had been resolved.

The patrols were still being assembled and armed, so there was still time to strategize. Daud looked over the table, now covered with the assembled artifacts gathered from the apartment.  

There were over a dozen pieces of paper that depicted shaky sketches of Dunwall Tower and parts of the city, several black feathers, longer than a man’s forearm, and, of course, Attano’s coat. Daud plucked one of the feathers from the table and held it up to the light.

“Excellent work. We still don’t know if Attano escaped under his own power or was abducted from Coldridge, but it’s a lead,” Daud remarked, turning the feather over in his hands. The vane and afterfeather were rumpled or torn entirely, and the shaft lacked the typical downy barbs of a bird’s feather. “Is there anything else to report?”

Thomas glanced around the office, as if checking for any wayward eavesdroppers, and then stepped closer.

“I believe the creature had a Mark,” he murmured, quietly.

Daud carefully returned the feather to its place.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice flat. He trusted Thomas, but he had to be certain.

“I saw something white here-” Thomas tapped the back of his left hand, “-when we first saw the creature. I couldn’t tell what it was at first; the creature moved too fast. But whatever it was lit up bright right after it dropped Finn, and then it moved like we do. It wasn’t exactly the same as our transversals; it was quicker, and with a shorter range.”

Daud frowned and rubbed a hand over his chin. His headache was growing stronger.

“Are you certain?” he asked again, tamping down on a long string of swears. The fucking Outsider was going to be the death of him. Ten years without supernatural bullshit in Dunwall and now Marked ones just pop out of the woodwork.

“I would be surprised if the creature wasn’t marked, sir,” Thomas admitted, nodding.

Daud let out a deep sigh.

“Three Marked in one city,” he finally remarked, brushing a hand over the Lord Protector’s coat. “The black-eyed bastard’s laughing at us all.”

“What do you want to do, sir?” Thomas asked, gesturing towards the map of Dunwall.

“Assemble another squad with as many of the masters as we can spare,” Daud ordered, looking over the crude maps. He lifted one with a rough drawing of John Clavering and Holger Square. “We’re sticking to the original plan and searching near John Clavering, but keep the master group in reserve. If the creature truly bears the Outsider’s Mark, it will have powers we can’t predict. Inform the patrols about the teleportation. As soon as one group engages, send up the signal and the masters will move in to capture. I also want the patrols to look for Corvo Attano. If he drew these maps, it’s likely he’s going to strike at the High Overseer and the Lord Regent. Take him alive.”

Thomas nodded, and vanished immediately. Daud pushed back from the table, overcome with weariness. On a sudden whim, he snagged Attano’s coat as he walked back to his desk.

The Lord Protector. The last Daud had seen of the unfortunate man was from the rooftops as the Regent’s guards seized Attano’s unresisting form and dragged him to Coldridge. He had tried to defend the Empress and her daughter to the death, and almost succeeded in thwarting the Whaler’s assassination

_ Who are you, Corvo Attano?  _ Daud wondered silently, spreading the coat across his desk as if it would give him the answers he sought.  _ What are you involved in now? _

 

“Daud.”

Daud looked up to see a familiar red coat appear on the balcony above him. With one swift motion Billie removed her whaling mask, wiping strands of sweat-slick hair away from her face.

“You took your time,” Daud growled, massaging his temples to ward off the oncoming headache. Dunwall wouldn’t let him rest for even a moment; he hadn’t forgotten about the ongoing search for Delilah.

“Unavoidable delays,” Billie said, leaning up against the railing above. “Arnold Timsh holes up in his mansion in the Legal District behind City Watch barricades and a host of tallboys. His niece, Thalia, wants a word with the Knife of Dunwall.”

Barrister Timsh, former owner of the  _ The Delilah _ and another step towards answers. Daud grimaced. He glanced towards Attano’s coat laid out on his desk. There were only more fucking questions building up as time passed, and it frustrated him.

“Let me guess,” he grumbled, “She can give us information on Delilah in return for our particular services.”

Billie nodded. “She wants to trade information for something of Arnold’s. Said nothing about a hit.”

Daud nodded, ignoring the lingering look that Lurk shot him. He touched the hilt of the sword belted to his side, and felt the tension drain out of his shoulders. He just wanted this Delilah business to be over. He would join Thomas later and resolve the situation with the creature.

“Good,” he said quietly. “Arrange the meeting. I’ll hear what Timsh has to say.”

 

* * *

 

In the end, the Overseer compound was a fucking joke to break into.

He had crossed the rest of John Clavering without much further difficulty. Once he was in sight of the square, he settled on the tallest rooftop he could find. From his perch, Corvo kept an eye out for more assassins, but found none.

When the sun dipped below the horizon and the street lamps flickered on Corvo slipped closer over the rooftops.

Even with the multitude of floodlights, Corvo barely had any trouble entering Holger Square amidst the departing crowds. He moved across the rooftops as the Overseers finished the last of their sermons and the light drained from the horizon. Many had turned to the Abbey’s authority because of the plague; no one was safe from suspicion of heresy, especially when the Abbey rewarded any ‘verified’ reports with a few coppers and a meal.

The massive open courtyard had been a major concern, but when Corvo slipped down from the rooftops the remaining Overseer guards had been concerned only with their latest ‘examples’: the corpses of three men and women found guilty of heresy, posted up around the stockade with the brand of the Abbey seared on their foreheads.

Unbidden, the Heart appeared in Corvo’s clenched fist.

_ “Once they are brought here they never leave. The Overseers always find the guilt they seek,”  _ Jessamine said, confirming his thoughts in a mournful tone. Corvo had never been fond of the Abbey. Up in the Tower by Jessamine’s side, it had just been politics.

But  _ he  _ was the heretical monster the Overseers were supposed to combat, branded with the sign of the Outsider; those people were just victims of circumstance. People who acted just differently enough that their neighbors could justify selling them out.

One of the Overseers lifted up his mask to spit on one of the corpses, and Corvo bared his teeth from the shadows. The Mark thrummed. One quick blink, one small gesture, and he could crush the man’s neck with his hands…

No. He had to find Campbell first. Corvo’s beak snapped shut as he bit down on a frustrated curse, and he let the Mark’s power fade. He had to focus, for Emily’s sake. He scuttled across the courtyard, using the stockade as cover from the Overseers’ line of sight. They were careless in their arrogance, lingering to gloat. By the time they started their nightly patrol, Corvo was gone.

The rest of the journey blurred together. After bypassing the courtyard he easily found a series of darkened ledges that  _ led over the gates and straight to the second floor of the compound,  _ easily avoiding the outside patrols and the dangerously illuminated courtyard.

The huge Overseer banners draped over the building and the floodlights created enormous shadows, and with his dark coloring Corvo was all but invisible to anyone on the ground level. His elevation also meant that the hounds couldn’t sniff him out.

Granted, Corvo had to use his teleportation ability to  _ reach _ the ledges, but once he was up there he could easily enter the compound through one of the many unlocked windows.

Corvo took his time memorizing the layout of the second floor. He saw no sign of Campbell, but there were many rooms to explore; Campbell’s office had to be one of them.

The upper hallways had huge overhead pipes and open panels over every door, and none of the patrolling Overseers looked up to see the monster looming over their heads. Corvo sneered as he watched a patrol walk down the hallway towards him without any sign of alarm.  _ Perhaps the masks drastically reduce their field of vision,  _ Corvo mused. The pipes were wide, but not  _ that  _ wide.

_ “They find each other in the dead of night. No scriptures come to their tongues when they embrace.” _

Jessamine’s voice echoed in the muffled quiet like a gunshot right as the two Overseers passed underneath his current hiding spot. Corvo flinched violently, banging his elbow against against the wall, and the newly conjured Heart nearly tumbled from his fingers as he plastered himself to the pipe he was crouching on. His bone charm necklace clinked together softly, muffled by his thick feathers.

Heart pounding, Corvo held his breath as the pair of Overseers paused right below him. His arm smarted, but he didn’t dare move. One of them turned to glance back down the hall.

“Is there a problem, Brother Marcus?” The second Overseer asked tentatively. He reached out, as if to take the other’s hand, but quickly aborted the motion partway through.

The other Overseer scanned the hallway for a few more moments. Finally, he turned back to his companion.

“No, it’s nothing,” he said, shaking his head. “Just my overactive imagination. Let’s hurry; Curnow should arrive any minute.”

Corvo waited until the two vanished around a corner before he unfolded from that ball he had curled into and started to move back down the hallway. He had gotten too cocky, and nearly paid the price. He glared at the Heart; the device had the bad habit of reappearing when he least expected it. It vanished without any further commentary, and Corvo mouthed obscenities he couldn’t voice. If the Outsider was watching, he’d probably be laughing. Corvo wouldn’t it past the deity that thought it was funny to gift him a cursed object that spoke with his former lover’s voice to regularly fuck with him. 

But despite the mishap, Corvo had found out some interesting (and worrying) information. As Corvo crawled towards the next door panel, he silently wondered what Curnow was doing here.

The Warfare Overseers and the City Watch were far from friendly, doubly so after the Lord Regent effectively made the Overseers a second military force within Dunwall. Campbell had to be up to something, especially if the Captain of the Watch was here, tonight. He had to pick up the pace.

  
  
  
  


Campbell’s office was, in the end, fairly easy to identify. As soon as Corvo rounded another corner, he nearly smacked into it. The hatch above a paid solid black doors was made of elegant metal filigree, the doors were guarded by two heavily armed Overseers. When Corvo crawled, his suspicions were instantly confirmed.

The portrait Sokolov had been painting the day of the Empress’ death hung over an elegant writing desk, separated from the rest of the room by a delicate wooden screen. A pair of fine pistols were mounted over an ornate fireplace, and above that one of the Outsider’s runes whistled softly from its placard.

An expensive dining table took up most of the room, positioned over a soft red carpet with gold tassels. It was set for two with the finest gilt dishes Corvo had ever seen, and he regularly dined with the Empress. The whole room screamed of opulence tastes, and Corvo swallowed the sudden bitter taste in his mouth.

Before he could do anything further, the double doors slammed open, and Campbell himself strode in.

“Close the doors,” he ordered, blissfully unaware of Corvo’s surprised presence, not seven feet above him. “When Curnow arrives, unlock them and send him in alone. Inform him I’ll be with him shortly. His men are to wait out in the courtyard until further notice.”

Corvo couldn’t believe it. Campbell was practically offering himself on a silver platter. The man in question busied himself with a tray of drinks, pouring out two generous glasses of wine. He muttered to himself, but Corvo couldn’t hear it from where he was, nor did he care. All of his concern drained away; Campbell was  _ here. _

Corvo slowly unfurled from the ceiling like a spider, his unnatural form stretching out like a black ribbon. He wanted to  _ savor  _ this. Tall as he was, there was still a bit of a drop to the ground. As Corvo landed, his claws softly clicked against the stone floor.

Campbell tensed up, but it was too late. Before he could move, Corvo darted forward, his hands outstretched. He wouldn’t get another chance like this. In the end, he was faster.

As Corvo’s talons clamped onto Campbell’s shoulder and neck, he felt a vicious surge of satisfaction as the man turned towards him, horror and shock twisting his weathered face into a grim mask. Before he could scream, Corvo clamped a hand over his mouth, his talons digging bloody furrows into the man’s cheeks.

Campbell started to push at the hands holding him, but Corvo already had a strong grip. He dragged the horrified High Overseer closer until they were roughly eye level and forced his chin up, impervious to his feeble attempts at struggling. Corvo did his best approximation of a smile, revealing a beak full of sharp, white teeth.

 

**“Hello, Campbell.”**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve changed things a little here. I understand not being detected is part of the experience but since Campbell knows that Corvo took him out in a non-lethal playthrough I figure I can get away with it here.
> 
> Also, Corvo’s lighter snark appears because he’s making progress for finding Emily and realizes how easy stealth is when you have supernatural teleportation abilities.
> 
> Also turns out my knowledge of weird Blink spots for Ghost/Clean Hands/Mostly Flesh and Steel came in handy!
> 
> Gimme some love?


End file.
